


That Unfelt Clasp Of Hands

by Zigzagwanderer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Angst, Detective Noir, Emperor Kylo Ren, Feelings, Hopeful Ending, Kylux - Freeform, Longing, M/M, Private Investigator Hux, Smut, one-night stand?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 03:17:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigzagwanderer/pseuds/Zigzagwanderer
Summary: Kind of a Star Wars Noir thing where Private Detective Hux is hired by Emperor Ren.Written for the Kyluxxoxo prompt fill 'Summer in the City' (Smoke/Hot/Weapon).Thanks as always if anyone reads this! And comments!! It is appreciated!!!





	That Unfelt Clasp Of Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boysnextdoor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boysnextdoor/gifts).

I exhaled. Smoke from the cigarette stung my split lip like a kiss, before being swallowed into the black, neon-scrawled sky. 

West City was like that; hungry, through and through. 

“You should never have hired me, Emperor Ren.” 

It was the truth, but I was so tired of the truth. Tired of clutching onto it as if it was a lifeline, when all it ever did was tangle you up and drag you under.

I didn’t have to turn around to know he was there. 

“You found out who killed Snoke.” He came forward, out of the shadows, but a man like that can never completely leave them behind; they cling around the eyes, like memories that can’t be outrun. 

I stepped back into my office from the cool cage of the fire escape. 

I kept my distance. 

I was afraid of him.

Because I wanted him.

“Despite what people say, your worship, I’m a damn good investigator." I patted a stack of unpaid bills. "Given the right incentive.”

“I sensed your…sharpness when we met, Hux. But perhaps I was blinded.” He shrugged, as if we were just discussing whether tomorrow’s solar flares would be incendiary, or merely scorching. “You are quite beautiful, you know.”

The case file lay between us, on my cheap, Taran-wood desk. We both looked at it, the display glimmering dully in the dark.

“And although you hate to admit it, you are also honest,” he said. “So your duty must be clear.” 

There were steps outside, along the corridor. Speeder traffic on the streets. My patched greatcoat hid my holster, hanging by the door.

As I passed him, he brushed my wrist with his fingers.

How many times had we touched, since the beginning?

Only once, on that first morning, when I’d banked his nice, shiny retainer, and we’d shaken hands and that small contact alone had made my mouth dry and my cockhead wet. 

“Tonight, Hux.” His whisper was his blade, fiery, piercing, running down my spine. “Can we at least have tonight?” 

I hesitated. 

Not because I was offended, or decent; I was familiar enough with hook-ups that were also farewells, back from my military days, where we fucked to forget that the troop-carrier was on its way to dredge us up and dump us down in some New Republic cesspit. 

But those men, those fellow soldiers had all been so easy for me to let go of, even while I was hefting my rifle-case onto my sex-scratched, sweat-slicked shoulders, headed out for yet another deployment. 

_This_ was different. 

_Ren_ was different; a broken prince, a child of death just as much as I was a child of one man’s industry and indifference. 

We had nothing in common, except everything that mattered.

And his smiles to me were like the discovery of a new element; each one rare and unexpected and beyond price.

Certainly they were far beyond whatever worth _I_ had, a nobody struggling to stay clean on a dirty planet. 

“Armitage?” He ventured, at last, and I sighed, defeated, and put the blaster down.

I had a place, over by the old Priest’s Quarter. About as fancy as my office. 

Opposite the lobby, spice-junkies sold themselves beneath the old temple gates. 

I locked the door behind us. Cleared off the unmade bed. Picked up a battered flask, my palms hot. 

“You can have a drink. It’s grainwater. Nothing special.” 

Ren took off his cloak. 

“I came here for you. Not for your hospitality.”

He took the flask and threw it away. 

He damn well threw _everything_ away; my reason, my defences. Only the morning would tell if my ethics were going to be trashed too. 

He took off my tie. Unfastened my shirt. Exposed my raw-meat ribs. Looked at me as if I was his by right; but not because I was his loyal, Imperial subject, and not because he was paying me my usual daily fee plus expenses. 

He did it as if that ugly muscle, that lay beating, faster and faster, beneath my broken bones, was his alone, by my gift. He traced along a bruise with the back of his hand, and just like that, it _was_. 

“Take me,” I told him, my voice shattering against his gentleness. “Please take me now and get it over with so that I can live the rest of my life missing it.” 

“My Guards hurt you.” He leaned in, breathing against my wounded mouth. “You stubborn, remarkable fool.” 

I swallowed as he put his lips to my throat. 

“I had to get inside the palace. Where you cut him in half,” I mumbled. The ceiling was streaked with orange light from the shanty camp-fires. “To see the saber burns for myself.” He bit at my pulse and I moaned like a whore. 

“I never concealed them,” he said, quietly. “I needed the reminder. Not to be like _him_.” 

I watched Ren undress us. 

He took my hands and touched himself with them. I was shaking. His skin was hot and marked with an apprenticeship of beatings. He looked like a work of art that somebody kept glueing back together, just so they could smash it to pieces again. 

I worshipped him. 

I made him hard. I made him come. I made him mine. 

I wanted to have something to remember him by, so I pleasured him until he begged, and until it hurt, and I bit him and made him kneel for me, cursing, and I made him come in my mouth and my hand and my hole. 

And in the morning, when I woke and he was gone, I realised that what I would remember most was the way he had held me as he slept, with his arms wrapped around my waist, warm and heavy as the dawn. 

  
  


Later, once I had emptied the flask and then shaved myself sober, I walked back to the office. 

There was poison in the sky. Speeder traffic on the streets. 

The case file was still there, on the desk. 

So was Ren’s weapon. His lightsabre. His abdication from a throne he had never wanted. 

I used one on the other. 

When the flames had died down, I scraped the whole mess of melted datapad into the garbage pail. 

It was that simple, in the end. 

I wanted him. 

Maybe he wanted me. 

I would go find him and ask him, wherever he’d gone in the galaxy, trying to outpace those shadows. 

After all, despite what people say, I’m a damn good investigator. 

Given the right incentive. 


End file.
